Wake Up, The Sun Is Rising Without You
by sceptic.idiot
Summary: Harry thinks he knows what he must do, what is expected of him. But living in denial is not easy. Draco shows him that there is, indeed, something other to life that doing what he must. A sort of hybrid of a PWP/One-shot. Slash, smut, strong language.


**A/N: This is my first fic that I've posted on ffnet, but not the first I've written. The idea came to me while I was writing a Dramione fic and begged to be penned. So I did. It's sort of a weird hybrid between a PWP and a one-shot. It has enough of smut to be considered a PWP, but more of a plot that makes it a sort of one-shot. Whatever. As long as you enjoy it, it doesn't matter. :P It's slash, of course, so please don't read it if you can't handle man-on-man action. The title of the story comes from the song "Quiet as a Mouse" by Margot and the Nuclear So and So's. The song I was listening to while writing the story is "If I Had A Gun" by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds. It's also the one quoted in the beginning. The pace and melody suits the story perfectly, so it you haven't heard it yet I recommend you do so before you read. Rated M for a reason. Enjoy. :)  
>Oh, and review, please! :D<strong>

_Excuse me if I spoke too soon,  
>My eyes have always followed you around the room<br>'Cause you're the only God that I will ever need  
>I'm holding on and waiting for the moment to find me.<em>

_~If I Had A Gun, Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds~_

Harry leans against the counter for what seems like the longest of time. He needs to put some distance between them. Ginny was being irrational, he tells himself. No matter the fact that somewhere he feels her words have struck the truth. He isn't going to allow her the satisfaction of knowing she isn't completely off the mark. Because how can he admit it to her when he refuses to admit it to himself? Denial has become a way of life with him. Things were just so much _easier_ when he caught on and clung to the fact that being with Ginny was what he _supposed_ to be doing, what was expected of him. How could he even consider another destiny for himself?

Harry sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. He thinks better of it and leaves them there while bending forward to find the counter with his elbows. He sighs again. Why can't Ginny just _let this be_? Why does she have to be so perceptive of things around her? Of Harry? Of his attempts to do away with his dissatisfaction and act like it didn't exist? Like it _shouldn't_ exist? He almost curses himself for choosing to be with a witch who was too smart for her own good. Things were going _fine_, weren't they? At least, they are going the best Harry can hope for, given the circumstances. She should learn how to let good enough be.

But Harry knows, against his denial, that this is not fair to her. He knows that Ginny deserves to be with someone who actually cares where their relationship is heading. Someone who doesn't cringe every time she mentions commitment and then scrambles to collect himself and polish over his blunder. Someone who doesn't have to feign the indifference he feels whenever she threatens to break it off and still makes an elaborate pretence of mollifying her that this is, indeed, what he wants. Someone who responds with true enthusiasm when her mother speaks about joining the family _for good_ and _continuing the bloodline_.

Ginny deserves someone who _isn't Harry_, for fuck's sake.

But Harry also knows that despite his wishing Ginny had better, he isn't going to let her go. Because she is the key to his predetermined future. Straying off this path is inconceivable to him. This is what he _must_ do; he _must_ marry her, procreate with her, and create the semblance of having a happy wedded life _with her_. This expectation of him is everywhere he looks - in Ron's hopeful eyes, in Hermione's affectionate giggles, in Molly's continual hints. It isn't for him to decide; it has already been done for him.

And he will follow through, as much as he doesn't want to.

Harry raises his elbows from the counter and straightens his aching back. He has made this decision in his head a hundred times over, trying to steelen his resolve. He knows what he must do. Yet it does nothing to lessen the throbbing pain he feels engulfing every inch of him.

He finally looks up and at the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Someone is standing there, leaning against the frame, hands crossed against their chest. Someone Harry isn't completely surprised to see, eyeing him with a mixture of exasperation and pain and sympathy and a dozen other emotions Harry doesn't want to - no, is _scared_ to - identify.

Harry should know. Draco Malfoy is always there. Whether needed or not, he's there. _Always_.

"Feeling sorry for ourselves again, are we?" Draco says, but with only a hint of the jesting bite he so oft throws around at Harry. There is more of an underlying pain in his words, an undertone that Harry tries to ignore. Unsuccessfully.

Harry simply makes a non-committal noise. He continues to gaze at Draco leaning with such effortless grace against the doorframe. He has donned his usual white collared and cuffed shirt and black trousers. _Looking impeccably dashing is in my nature, Harry, no matter what the occasion. And you know you'd doubt it was truly me if I didn't dress this way._ He recalls a teasing conversation they had had some time ago when he had pestered Draco to know why he must always dress so formally.

Despite himself, Harry finds a reluctant grin cracking across his face as the memories of that conversation and that night return to him. He always finds himself so much more comfortable in Draco's presence. Of late, even more than with Ron or Hermione, as much of his conversation with the latter pair always seems to turn to their own happy wedded bliss and that in turn, leads to his and Ginny's impending course of action.

That had been a particular relaxed night, Harry remembers. Draco had, on an impulse, suggested that they bewitch a nearby field into disillusionment and play an impromptu game of one-on-one Quidditch. Once again donned in his usual fare, Harry had pushed him as to how he could even play with those clothes.

They had returned, flushed with adrenaline, laughing away at some inconsequential detail. The game had been casual but competitive, both of their razor-sharp Seeker's instincts kicking in. Following a quick cup of tea in Harry's home, Draco had bid him goodbye and left, leaving Harry feeling lighter than he had in months.

Draco finally moves away from the doorframe and walks towards Harry. "You know, you _really_ should learn to control your expressions. If it weren't common knowledge that you are completely insane and prone to rapid mood-swings, someone might assume you're actually _happy_ to see me, Merlin forbid." Draco jibes, smiling. Harry returns the smile, knowing full well he doesn't mean it; this was just _Draco being Draco_.

"Oh no, we wouldn't want anyone thinking that, now would we?" Harry returns, slipping easily into the playful banter.

Draco's smile remains in place for a while, while he positions himself between Harry and the kitchen island. He mirrors Harry's position and leans against the island, while Harry has moved backwards to lean against the other counter. He cannot help himself and stares into Draco stormy grey eyes. There, he can see it. Harry's pain and frustration is reflected in his eyes. Draco seems to be hurting over the way _Harry_ is hurting. Those eyes never hid anything. Whenever Harry doubted Draco, one look into his eyes always told him the truth. It couldn't hide from him there.

Draco's smile fades slightly to be replaced with a wistful expression as he realizes just what Harry is doing. "Is it Ginny again?" He asks. Harry knows that _Draco knows_ full well what the answer is.

Harry lets his emotions show as he cocks an eyebrow at him in an expression that clearly says are-you-really-pretending-you-don't-know? Draco sighs and rakes his fingers through his impossibly yet perfectly set hair, mussing it hopelessly as he does. Harry thinks this way looks far more endearing and makes a conscious effort not to hold his gaze there.

"Harry, you know this is wrong. You know you don't want this. And as much as you may deny it, you know that _I'm_ smart enough to know it too. Weasley and Granger would probably realize it as well if they weren't so bent on making sure this worked out between the two of you. As for Molly, well, we both know she'll refuse to acknowledge it even if it smacks her in the face." He pauses, ruffling his hair again, and seemingly tries to find a way to say what he wants to say correctly. "But that doesn't mean you have to push through with it. You don't always have to play the martyr. And regarding that, as to who you think this façade is helping beats me. Your dissatisfaction is obvious, so are Ginny's constant doubts and hesitations. Do you think either of you will be happy with this? How long will you be able to keep it up?"

Harry chooses to ignore Draco's cool outburst. Draco was nothing if not calm; he has always been that way ever since the War. Harry tears his emerald eyes away from Draco's piercing ones – the colour of stormy weather and glistening lakes and soft downy feathers; triggers to a memory dating only a few years back – and turns to the counter behind him. He picks up the kettle and checks the quantity of water inside it, then adds some more. Without looking around, he asks, "Tea?" A resigned sigh greets his inquisition. "Yes, I'd love some, actually."

Harry hides a smirk as he puts the kettle on to boil. Draco was always up for a cup, even at the most absurd moment. His preoccupation – no, obsession – with the beverage had pushed him to experiment with several brews and blends. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for Harry. He preferred the usual variety and Draco knows better than to expect anything else at his house.

His house. Harry's house. Not Ginny's, not _theirs,_ but his. Harry's very own. It is his last vestige of holding on to his identity before he gives in to his inescapable fate. Grimmauld Place had never held fond memories for him before the War, but it has become a sort of refuge now. Molly was baffled as to why he refused to _get a place with Ginny and live together like the couple they have been for years now_ but she dropped the argument after he gave her a half-lie about it making him feel closer to those who had died during the War. Harry had not recovered nearly as well as everyone else owing to the fact that he arguably had impacted and been impacted by the War the most. Molly seemed to accept that and had backed off. So while Ginny continued living in the Burrow, Harry had taken up habitation in the now considerably less gloomy House of the Blacks. _Until our impending wedded bliss, of course, _he thinks with a bitter smile.

He finishes making the tea and pours it into the glass that Draco always uses when he comes over. Harry turns around to see that Draco has moved away and now sits at the chair on the other side of the island, still facing him, watching his every movement with rapt attention. The scrutiny throws Harry a bit and he hands Draco the cup, slightly conscious of his motions. He conjures a chair and seats himself too, opposite the blonde. He has not made a cup for himself. Draco sips thoughtfully, then sets the mug down before analysing Harry and speaking.

"Harry, talk to me. Tell me why you're doing this. Please. I don't know why you would put yourself – and Ginny – through this when it obviously isn't what either of you want." Draco's hurt at being put out in the dark is thinly veiled.

"You wouldn't understand." Harry deadpans.

Draco's anger now comes to the fore. "Then make me. Am I not your friend? Have I not been for years now? Tell me, Harry, do I _deserve_ this sort of treatment? At least do me the courtesy of not considering me so pathetically moronic that I will not make an attempt to understand your motives, no matter how absurd."

Harry blanches. Draco never loses his temper unless absolutely necessary. He knows that by now. But he still hesitates. A few deep breaths do the trick. If he is going to tell anyone, Harry knows it will be Draco. It is always Draco.

"I didn't mean it that way, Draco, you know I didn't." Harry almost whispers, fearful. Yet he cannot avoid thinking how he loves the way his name rolls off his tongue. Cutting at the consonants, pulling at the vowels. It's just _so easy._

Draco seems to be slightly placated by the assurance, but he doesn't lose the fierce look in his eyes. Harry knows that he will _not let this go_ until he knows the truth. So Harry tells him.

"It's what is expected of me. What I need to do. It will be… better… for all of us in the long run if I follow this path." Harry breathes, looking downwards, afraid of what reaction might greet his gaze. When there is no response, he turns upwards to find Draco staring at him, a mixture of pity and sadness etched upon his face. But he still says nothing.

The silence stretches between them, filling the gaps that they try desperately to avoid, the hurt that they refuse to show, the want that they deny to acknowledge. Suddenly, Harry feels the need to say something. So he does.

"I told you, you wouldn't understand." His voice is still low. He immediately regrets his words as in one fluid movement, Draco is off his chair and by Harry's side, staring down at him with fire in his eyes.

"Do you think you are the only one who is burdened with the knowledge of _what they must do_ and _what is expected of them_? Have you forgotten so quickly? You're not the only one who was changed by the War, Harry." Draco repeats the line he had said so few years back, yet it seems like a lifetime ago. Something about the way Draco says his name hurts Harry. He pulls back, the emotion clearly imprinted on his face.

But he _has _forgotten. Or rather, he has allowed himself to get so caught up in his own misery that he refuses to acknowledge that of those around him.

d-d-d-d-d

_Harry disentangles himself from Ron and Hermione's embrace. The War is over. Voldemort is dead. Everything is how it should be._

_But it isn't. The Great Hall is littered with the bodies of people who died fighting against the Dark Lord, who died fighting for _Harry_. He is engulfed in grief. And guilt. Guilt that threatens to overwhelm him and rob him of every conscious thought. Guilt that has him careening over the edge in his desperation to scream at the top of his lungs. Remus, Tonks, _Fred_…_

_He needs to get away from everyone._

_He mutters a hasty excuse to the two people who have stood by him through thick and thin. They, thankfully, don't question him; they understand his need to be alone, for once. A quick nod later, Harry bursts out the front doors and onto the grounds._

_He finds his feet taking him towards the lake. He is not alone. A shock of platinum blonde hair has already settled there, staring unseeingly into the distance beyond the horizon of the lake. Impulsively, Harry seats himself next to the form. Malfoy makes a sound of surprise as he recognizes the figure now sitting beside him, but says nothing more. He is not willing to fight, either. Not now._

_Surprisingly, Malfoy is the first to speak. "This was never what I wanted. Not… not this. Definitely not this." His voice is barely a whisper, making Harry wonder if he intended for him to hear it at all._

_Harry does not reply._

_Malfoy goes on. "But I had a duty to my family, didn't I? As much as I didn't want to do it, it needed to be done in order to ensure their safety. He wouldn't have left us alive, would he?" It is more of a request for reassurance than a statement. Harry is startled to hear the vulnerability in his voice._

_He breaks the silence beside himself. "No, I don't believe he would have, Malfoy." He seems to have found the reassurance he wants and his posture becomes less stiff. "But that shouldn't have stopped you from taking the Order's protection when it was offered." Harry's voice is slightly bitter, the edge revealing it's presence beside his attempt not to._

_Malfoy is quiet for a while. "I have no excuse for that, Potter." He continues to stare out at the lake. Time seems to have stopped here. Harry stares out at the grey birds nestling in the bordering trees so peacefully, at the gentle ripples of the water where wayward leaves float by. He looks at the sky, splashed with hues of blues and oranges and reds and purples while lazy silver clouds meander around. He refuses to believe there can still be something so beautiful around him when there was so much death and destruction about._

"_But that doesn't stop me from saying that I was a pathetic, lying, cowardly bastard." Malfoy nearly spits the words. Harry catches himself before he can betray the astonishment he feels. Draco Malfoy was _repenting_? No, Hell would freeze over before _Draco fucking Malfoy_ atones for his sins._

"_You don't really mean that, Malfoy. Am I supposed to believe you feel sorry for what you have done, after all of this?" Harry gestures wildly to the surroundings, not really indicating anything but knowing Malfoy would get his point._

_Suddenly Malfoy's head snaps to Harry, and he begins unbuttoning his left sleeve cuff. Pulling it back, he reveals his arm. Harry's eyes widen and he nearly gasps. In the place previously occupied by the Dark Mark is a brutally bleeding piece of cut flesh, scratched and scraped and abused beyond the point of recognition. Harry wonders how he didn't notice the fresh blood soaking Malfoy's sleeve before. He supposes it is because of the dried blood of their own and _Merlin knows who_ that clung to each of their clothes. A jagged stone covered in the red fluid lying near Malfoy catches Harry's eye. Suddenly, he understands._

"_I did it all against my will, Potter. I was scared, yes, and a coward, yes, and had been brought up being taught to hate all those who weren't like me, yes; but never once did I truly believe the crap that the Dark Lord kept spouting about _cleansing of the bloodlines_. Not when it had to come at such a price. Nothing could justify… _this_." He gestures wildly like Harry, both of them knowing he is referring to the same thing._

_Harry's astonishment knows no bounds. As much as his brain refuses to accept it, his heart has already clenched on to the truth: Draco Malfoy _was_ human. Even he felt, he just couldn't show it. Not when he had a price to pay for betraying even the slightest trace of weakness._

_Harry couldn't push him away. Not when he was being so earnest. Hadn't he lost enough in the War already? Now was the time to accept, not reject._

_Malfoy whispers, his pain clearly audible. "You're not the only one who's been changed by the War, Potter."_

_Harry places a hand uncertainly on his shoulder. He doesn't shrug it away. Taking courage, Harry speaks, his voice barely louder than the blonde boy's. _

"_I know, Malfoy."_

d-d-d-d-d

Harry rushes back to the present. Those whispered admittances under the shelter of trees surrounded by the beauty of the lake seem like a world away now.

He looks up to find Draco is still staring at him bitterly. Harry is pained to see the unrestrained emotion in his eyes. He needs to fix this.

"I'm sorry." Harry says softly, his shining green orbs, filled to the brim with regret, still locked on Draco's bitter ones. For once, the grey colour of them is at par at how Draco is truly feeling - dull, downbeaten, resigned, bitter. There is a hardness in them that Harry is afraid to recognize. He realizes that never before has Draco spoken about the War so forthrightly after that morning.

Draco slowly walks back to his own chair, but the calm familiarity is lost. Harry's insides feel like lead. This is not what he wants. The _last_ thing he wants is to push away the one person who is capable of handling any aspect or mood of his. Not only capable - _willing_, even.

Harry realizes Draco's mug is now empty. Picking it up, he rises from his chair carefully and turns to pour out some more tea, glancing at Draco from the corner of his eye every so often.

Draco has given up studying Harry's movements to pick at his left sleeve cuff. He never does anything that isn't necessary; every movement of his is calculated and controlled - Harry knows this by now.

Harry turns to hand the now-refilled mug to Draco and is suddenly overwhelmed with the need to share his plight. He knows if he doesn't get this out now, he never will.

He sets his features in determination. The wizard sitting across the counter seems to notice and looks at Harry, his own face slowly regaining the warmth that Harry is so familiar with. He reaches out to take the mug and as he does, his fingers brush lightly against Harry's own digits. For a moment, the world stands still. Harry now knows he must tell Draco what Ginny said.

He knows what Harry intends to do. "Finally gotten over being daft, have we?" Draco asks, his smirk barely concealed. "Well, get on with it, then."

But suddenly Harry's confidence is lost. All the reasons why this is better left unspoken of come to the fore and he knows he is fighting a losing battle with them. He grits the words out before the last of the courage coursing through his veins only moments ago can drain out.

"Ginny accused me. Of not loving her."

"What's new about that?" Draco ponders. "That's always been a major grouse with her, as far as I can remember."

"Yes, but..." Harry falters, then continues, his voice decidedly more hesitant. "This time, she said something different. She said it was you. You were the reason why. Why I didn't love her as much as she expects me to."

Draco freezes, his eyes still locked on Harry's face.

Harry now knows there is no turning back. He cannot broach the subject and then drop it this way. He stares at the wall directly in front of him and continues, trying to pretend he is speaking to an empty room. It is easier to get the words out that way. Draco is still looking at him, frozen.

"She said a lot of things tonight. Some of which I still refuse to believe. She said so many things... About you. About me. About _us_. About how," Harry swallows, "How the only time I seem to be truly happy is when you're around. That my smiles are only genuine when you're the one who causes them. About the fact that I seek you out in the room before any of them. _She said a lot of things, Draco_." The last line is barely a whisper.

Draco is still frozen, his cup gripped tightly between his slender hands. He is still looking at Harry. Heartbeat, breath. Heartbeat, breath. Harry counts the rhythm of his body, afraid.

Harry surges on, worried that if he doesn't say this now he probably never will be able to. "I think she was just upset about the way I'd been acting tonight. I daresay I have to agree, I was a right tosser with her and Ron and Hermione today. I think it's been building up inside of her for a while now. But this was new. She has never said _all this_ before. Makes you wonder how long she kept it in, huh?" Harry gives a half-hearted bark of laughter that turns bitter and ends in seconds.

"But I told her it wasn't like that. We're _friends_, we have been for _years_ now, does she expect me to treat you any differently than I would Ron or Hermione? You've always been there when I needed you Draco, and that's more than I can say for them at times." Harry adds darkly. "Not that I can fully blame them, they have their own family now, what with Hugo almost one already.

"But she said there was more to it. I don't know what she's on about, honestly. We're friends, _aren't we_, Draco?"

Harry finally tears his gaze from the wall and down to his seated form across the counter. Harry's face is hopeful, apprehensive, and nervous all at once.

Draco sees it. He always sees.

He slowly rises from his chair and approaches Harry, coming around the counter. He stands directly in front of him, posture straight, thoroughly invading Harry's personal space.

Harry stiffens. What is this?

His apprehension must have shown, because he sees a flicker of hesitation and doubt in Draco's face for a fleeting moment before it disappears, replaced by fierce determination.

His grey eyes seek out Harry's green ones. Harry finally concedes.

Draco takes a breath, steadying himself. His eyes never waver. "Tell me I'm not the only one," he breathes, in a voice so full of vulnerability it makes Harry's heart break. It is not just a statement or an inquiry. It's almost a _plea_.

Harry stands there, enraptured by his gaze. Draco does not continue or elaborate. He doesn't need to. They both know the meaning of his words.

Suddenly Harry is consumed by an uncomfortable feeling. He looks away, trying to evade the closeness of their bodies, the way Draco's slow breath is tickling his neck, the fact that if he extends his hand even slightly he will be able to touch Draco's lying firmly by his side.

Draco sighs at Harry's averted gaze. Harry finds gentle but firm fingers cup his jaw and turn it forward again. He cannot bring himself to push them away.

"Harry," Draco sighs, and when Harry's eyes seek his out and stay there, the moment seems to stretch out for eternity. Harry lets out a breath he didn't know he had held.

Draco lips are upon his in a second. It is just a gentle brush, a question, a request, a plea. A million unspoken words.

Harry stiffens yet again. What the _fuck_ is this?

His brain yells at him. It's just one phrase, said over and over again. _What about Ginny?_

Harry ignores the warning of his mind. Draco's lips are still upon his, his eyes tightly shut, as if he doesn't want to see the rejection he knows he is going to receive. Yet he does not withdraw.

And then it hits Harry – _he doesn't want him to._

Despite himself, he finds his arms snaking around Draco's shoulders and neck and he pushes himself into the kiss. Draco's eyes snap open in surprise. His relief – _happiness _– is so clear that Harry cannot help but smile against his lips.

"Do you want this?" Draco leans back just enough to ask, uncertain.

"Yes." Harry says simply, and he knows it is true.

Draco's smile is so heartwrenchingly _true _that Harry melts into him completely. Draco kisses him long and slow but it is a chaste kiss. Harry wants more. He slowly deepens the kiss, his tongue probing Draco's slightly parted lips, asking for entry. He obliges, and soon their tongues are flitting against each other in a dance of sorts. Draco's hands have long since entangled themselves in the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and Harry does the same. He realizes with a blush that he had always wondered what Draco's hair would feel like. It is everything he imagined and more.

Harry feels himself going limp and pulls back. He needs to balance himself. He slowly pushes himself up onto the counter while Draco watches him. He waits for a moment, simply _looking _at him. He is beautiful. Harry has always _known _it, but he has only just appreciated_ how much. _And then he can't take anymore. He pulls Draco by his waist between his legs. He feels a little heady.

But he needs to voice his fears. "What about Ginny?" Harry says, finally giving in to the screaming in his brain that had been pushed to a corner.

"Do you care?" Draco counters.

Harry doesn't need to shake his head. But he does anyway.

"Then don't think. Just _feel."_

His breath hitches as Draco comes towards him, more fiercely than before. _This_ kiss is needy, hurried, and Harry can _feel _Draco trying to pour in all his unsaid admittances into it. He can _feel _the way Draco's cool hands slide under his shirt and lay, open-palmed, against his chest. He can _feel _Draco's breath hitch when he does the same, and he can _feel _the smooth, trembling skin under his hands. Why hasn't he done this before?

Draco makes a sound in the back of his throat. It almost drives Harry crazy with need. His head dips and he traces the length of Draco's jawline and then his collarbone with his mouth, nipping and licking where needed. Draco's head falls back of its own accord. "Harry, _please,"_ His voice scares Harry. It is breathless; dripping with desire. He is sure if he speaks, the same will be reflected in his.

When did things get this way?

Harry pulls back. Draco's eyes are darkened and shuttered with lust and is looking at him with undiluted longing. He wraps his fingers around Draco's cool wrist and hops off the counter. He walks past Draco, wrist still firmly in grasp. When Draco doesn't move, Harry turns to look him in the eye.

"Come," he says, simply. After a moment, Draco complies.

He pulls him upstairs by the wrist that he has still refused to let go off. He traipses upstairs languorously, Draco following the pace. When Harry reaches the bedroom, he walks in and pulls the male behind him along. Turning to face him, he slowly walks backwards towards the bed, still tugging at him. Draco looks at him curiously but also eagerly. Hesitantly.

Harry falters. His newfound courage seems to have been dented by Draco's apprehension. "Don't you… Don't you want this?" he asks uncertainly.

"Not if you don't." Draco's answer is quiet. "I'm not pushing you into this if _you_ don't want it."

"_I want it," _Harry answers, not a trace of a lie in his words.

He backs onto the bed slowly and pulls Draco by his shoulders onto him. "I've wanted this more than anything I can remember."

Draco positions himself carefully over Harry, dividing his weight on his elbows by either side of his chest. Harry is breathless again, his heartbeat faster than he ever thought possible. He has never felt this way with Ginny. Not once in the years they have been together. Draco slowly tugs at the hem of Harry's shirt and he understands, pulling it over his head rapidly. Draco's head dips as he begins to caress Harry's torso; lips, tongue, fingers everywhere he can reach. Harry cannot stop the quiet moan that escapes his lips. Careful brushes, strokes, so artful that it can only be Draco. His essence wafts over Harry, the smell of the cologne he is so acquainted with mixed with a scent that is _purely Draco._ Harry needs him too.

He pulls Draco up and fumbles with the clasps on his shirt. Why are there so many? Why are they so hard to undo? Draco laughs breathlessly. The motion makes for friction between their abdomens. Harry gasps quietly. Draco's expression turns thoughtful, warm.

He can _feel _him against his hips.

Draco gently pushes Harry's fingers away and undoes his own clasps. His shirt is off his back in a swift movement. Harry's eyes are drawn to the scarred piece of flesh on his left arm. It has never healed. Not fully. The vicious scars still remained, red and raw against Draco's pale skin. Harry trails his fingers lightly over the flesh. Draco's eyes move to follow Harry's motions. There is unrestrained regret and pain in his eyes. One that he doesn't need to speak aloud. He looks at Harry, and something in his look tells him he feels Harry hasn't forgiven him completely. Harry places the fingers of his other hand on Draco's lips and reaches up to soothe the abused skin with his own, pressing soft kisses against it. Draco's eyes flutter shut at Harry's gently caresses. "Look at me," Harry says quietly.

Draco opens his eyes slowly. "I don't care," he says, knowing full well he will understand. "We're here now. Do you hear me, Draco? _I don't care._"

Draco is still not convinced. "I just need to hear you say it." Draco pauses. "I need to hear that you forgive me. _I'm so fucking sorry, Harry._ If I could go back, I'd change it all."

Harry looks up at his eyes, suspiciously glistening with what could only be tears. He pulls Draco's head down by his hair, and kisses him deeply. When they break apart, Harry says firmly. "I forgive you. I'd forgiven you a long time ago. That very morning by the lake, honestly. _I forgive you._"

Draco shuts his eyes and a singly tear escapes. "Okay," he whispers, and when his eyes snap open, all trace of tears are gone to be replaced with only deep longing.

There are still too many layers of fabric between them. He draws Draco's attention to this inconvenient fact by nudging the – still foreign – clasp of his trousers with his hips, bringing with it the _oh-so-sweet _friction. Draco understands, and it is gone within moments. But he takes his own time carefully pulling Harry's jeans off. Harry whimpers. "_Please, _Draco," he manages to say breathlessly. But Draco does this the way he wants. Soon there is nothing between them but their boxers.

Harry needs more. Draco is going too slowly. With some effort, he switches their positions and is now looking down at Draco's face. The moonlight streaming through the window falls across his eyes. Merlin, he is so _beautiful._ The colour of the light and his eyes mingle to form an ethereal shade. This is too much.

Harry bends down to find his mouth with his own, the kiss deep, heavy, hot. He moves downwards, worshipping his body with his lips. When he reaches the line of his boxers, he looks up to find Draco staring at him, his expression unreadable. Harry slips one finger between the hem and Draco's waist, and he shudders. He pulls them off completely. Draco is completely ready for him. He wraps his fingers around his warm erection, and Draco makes a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan. He slowly begins to move his fingers up and down and Draco's eyes flutter shut. _I want this so much_ is the only coherent thought that Harry finds himself capable of conjuring. _I need _him_ so much._

Draco's breath starts quickening. Harry continues with his motions, reaching up to nuzzle Draco's cheek, so soft and cool against his own. Draco's hands tighten around Harry's torso. Harry twists his hand slowly. _"Oh,"_ Draco says, nails digging into Harry's back. There is pleasure to be taken from pain, Harry finds, and begins quickening his motions. He only has to do it a few more times before Draco comes, moaning Harry's name and arching into him. "Harry," he breathes. Harry lifts his cheek from Draco's and looks into his eyes.

Harry looks at him. _Just looks at him. _"Turn around," Harry says, voice firm.

"Are you sure?" Draco's need to not push him is evident.

Harry sighs. "I told you Draco, I want this. Fuck that, I _need _this. I need _you. _You're just…" he scrambles for the words. Draco's fingers are upon his lips in a moment, "Okay," he says, barely breathing. "I trust you."

He turns, slowly; lazily, even. Harry does away with his own boxers, the last piece of clothing between them, releasing his aching erection. Draco is watching him over his shoulder, head propped up on a hand. Harry reaches for his wand from the bedside table and mutters a spell, turning their bodies slick where needed. His hands are shaking.

"Alright?" Draco asks, noticing as usual. He _always _notices.

"Yeah," Harry assures. "Just nervous. And anxious. I want this so much, I want to do it properly."

Draco's eyes soften. "I told you Harry, I trust you."

"I know."

Harry steadies his breath and slowly moves his fingers towards Draco. As nonchalant as he may try to appear, Draco's breath hitches when Harry inserts two fingers into him. He twists. Draco moans, a primal sound that Harry is taken aback to hear. He slowly withdraws. He is achingly hard and needs release.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"No," Draco responds, smiling.

"Perfect." Harry almost laughs.

Harry slides inside and their sounds entwine. Draco pants. "Wait, just wait a minute…" he trails, trying to gather himself. So Harry waits. "Okay," Draco says finally.

Harry begins to thrust. Slowly at first, then faster. Draco hisses. Harry slides his hand below Draco, finding him hard again. He starts stroking again, matching his thrusts. Harry almost totally loses his mind. He feels complete in a way he never has before. He rest down on Draco's back and whispers in his ear. "Draco," he says. "Draco, come for me." He bites down on his shoulder blade, and Draco whimpers again. In a symphony of lights and sounds and moans and twists, they both come, panting.

Harry allows himself a moment before he rolls off Draco's back. He lies on the bed, still not quite having caught his breath. Draco turns to looks at him, his face flushed and eyes filled deep with something more than _just affection._ Harry looks at him too. "Sometimes I wish Ginny wasn't so smart," Harry says. "Why she saw it before me beats me. _I need you, _Draco." He looks at the warmth around his light eyes and breathes a soft admittance. "Draco, I... I love you."

"I know," Draco says simply, and pulls Harry by the hair for another kiss.

d-d-d-d-d

When Harry wakes, it is still dark. Draco is sprawled against him, limbs entwined, breathing in perfect harmony with him. He looks almost angelic in his sleep. He smiles and _just stays still_ for a long time.

He can live with this, Harry thinks.

Why he ever thought being with _Ginny _is what he's meant to do fails him. Because this is obviously all he needs. All he could hope for. All he ever wanted.

_Merlin, I can definitely live like this. _Harry falls back to sleep, smiling.

And that, in the end, was that.

_fin_


End file.
